


Ride

by ziparumpazoo



Series: Epilogue to an Epilogue [1]
Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/pseuds/ziparumpazoo
Summary: Look at you, send me one more shot, sitting on the bathroom sink, damn you really turn me on, painting your toenails pink…orWalt has incentive to come home from his trail ride





	Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a a collection of post-epilogue one-shots. Thanks to tree for pointing out that while time moves funny in Absaroka, it's still a little more consistent than in the first draft of this thing.

Having never owned his own cell phone until now, Walt had not realized that even with the wide-open Wyoming sky above, it was near impossible to be truly alone out here.

When Vic had helped him set up his new phone, she’d explained the differences between voice and data, and text and talk. Walt was fairly certain he was never going to feel comfortable with the idea of video calling after the first time where he realized the camera was pointed up his nose.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t look forward to her nightly check-in, even if most nights all they opt for is a quick exchange of texts to save on battery life. Travelling by horseback means travelling light and bringing only the essentials. He’d brought one of those extra battery packs at her insistence, but he was trying to save it for an emergency he hoped not to have.

With the coffee can of ashes scattered and Lucian laid to rest, Walt was looking forward to heading home. 

The sun has dipped behind the canyon wall, creating a false dusk at odds with the deep blue sky overhead when Walt checks the phone screen and notices the two little bars have grown into three. He figures he could make it back to the parking lot in a couple of hours if he wanted to push his horse, but it’s not worth the risk over uneven trails in the gloom.

The phone pings in his hand, startling him. It’s still early for Vic’s check-in.

Walt thumbs open the screen and can’t help the rush at the little red number on the text app. The phone is so new that the only other people who know his number are family – Cady and Henry. Henry has never been the type for casual conversation, and while Walt was still working on repairing his relationship with Cady, he’s certain that for the moment, she would only reach out in an emergency. Neither would have contacted him by text.

He opens the message and is greeted by a photo: a pair of Ranier long-necks still capped, but wet, like they’ve just been pulled from a cooler full of ice. Walt’s mouth waters and he has to swallow back the conditioned reflex. He squints but can’t make out anything in the background other than the surface of a folding plastic camp table.

There’s no accompanying text.

It’s tempting to gig the horse on a little faster, but not even the first cold beer in a week is worth a lamed horse. Walt sends back a quick ‘Vic?’ and waits. When he doesn’t receive a reply, he tucks the phone back into his shirt pocket and turns his attention to the trail ahead.

An hour later, almost on the hour, the phone pings again. They’re making a slow, switchback climb up the grassy bluff and true dusk is starting to catch up with them, so Walt brings the horse to a stop to give it a chance to rest.

Same as before, just a picture.

The pair of Raniers are still there. This time one of them is uncapped and accompanied by a pair of bare feet propped on the table, crossed at the ankles. Pale-skinned and neatly manicured, they’re feet that he’s become intimately familiar with recently. He recognizes the faint tan lines from the flip-flops she likes to wear on weekends.

The horse looks up at him over its shoulder and whuffles out a breath, enquiring if they’re just going to stand around on this hillside all day. Walt clicks his tongue and lets the horse pick its way up the trail.

It’s full dark when Walt figures they’re only about a half-mile from the trailhead. The ground is more even here, but it’s still littered with high-plaines landmines: loose sediment here, ground squirrel burrows there. Plenty of hazards that could bring an unfortunate end to the trip. He keeps the reins loose and an eye on the ground and the shadows cast by rocks and bushes in the moonlight.

As if on cue, the phone pings again.

The bright screen is blinding in the dark. By the time his eyes adjust, the horse has wandered to a patient stop and is nosing at the scrub brush around it, as if this is all just routine.

For a moment, Walt thinks the latest picture is accidental. He’s taken plenty of those himself - half an ear or a blurry kneecap as he’s fumbled somebody’s borrowed phone. Except there’s nothing blurry about this particular shot. He recognizes the curve of Vic’s neck, true, and the slightly fuzzy backlighting from her motorhome, but the half-shot of her mouth, the way it’s kicked up behind the lip of the beer bottle as if she’s taunting him, is definitely on purpose.

Walt shifts in the saddle and decides that Vic just might be trying to kill him.

The last few yards to the parking feel like they might take forever. Then he’s got to load the horse into the trailer and drive the two hours back to the cabin. He’s still got a long evening ahead of him.

The horse rounds the final corner on the trail and Walt is startled to see the parking lot washed in a warm glow. Parked beside his truck is Vic’s motorhome, canopy propped open and lawn chairs set up out front. Vic is lounging in one of the chairs, reading by the light of a portable lantern. He doesn’t think she’s seen him approach, but then she sets aside her book and dips her hand into the cooler beside her.

“Hey cowboy.” She pushes to her feet. “You took so long I almost thought you got lost.”

“How?” is the only thing he can think to say as he dismounts.

Vic sidles up to him, cold beer in hand. “There’s this app on your phone. It lets you see where your friends are.”

Walt stares. “You were tracking me.”

She’s unapologetic. “Yes.”

He looks around at the motorhome, a beacon in the dark of the parking lot. “What’s all this?”

“Well…” Vic glances over her shoulder. “It looked like you were going to be late, and then there’s the long drive home in the dark. We’ve had like a dozen calls for roadkill pickups this week alone.” She turns back and grins at him, extending an arm toward the RV like she’s showing off the grand prize on a game show. “So I thought why not bring home to you? Or at least the comforts of it.”

“Huh.” Walt can’t quite shake off the stunned surprise of finding her here waiting. For him.

Behind him, the horse blows out another of its great wuffling breaths, impatient with him again. There’s still work to be done yet, unsaddling and feeding and watering at the very least. Walt’s suddenly hit by a heaviness after a long week on the trail. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and feels the grit stuck there under his collar. “That thing got a working shower?”

Vic steps closer and trades the reins in his hand for the beer in hers. She leads the horse over to the trailer where Walt notices she’s already set out the buckets of water and the feed he’d left for the trip home. The horse follows her like they’re old friends.

“Even better.” She looks at him over her shoulder and tilts an eyebrow in that way that’s always made his breath catch in his throat.

“It’s got a bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Summary stolen from Eric Church's 'Wrecking Ball' because it was stuck in my head. No apologies.


End file.
